The Secret Admirer Romance Collection

by Barratt, Amanda; Beatty, Lorraine; Bull, Molly Noble

  Committed adultery? Every muscle in Abby’s body stiffened against this outright lie.

  “I don’t believe a word of it,” the pastor said.

  “Neither do I, and I feel so sorry for Luke and Miss Willoughby. Should we tell them what people are saying?”

  “Absolutely not. We must love and protect them instead.”

  Abby raced up the stairs to her room, falling on her bed and sobbing until there were no tears left. Had all the wicked gossipmongers that had plagued her in Georgia followed her to Texas?

  She would need to give Mrs. Johnson Luke’s letter as she promised to do. And she and Luke could never be friends now. She must stay away from him—for her good and for his.

  Chapter 6

  An hour later Abby went down to help Mrs. Johnson with supper, and she took Luke’s letter with her.

  “Oh, there you are.” Mrs. Johnson had been washing dishes, but she turned around, wiping her hands on her apron. “Is that the letter?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Abby reached out and handed her Luke’s letter.

  Mrs. Johnson nodded, putting the letter in the pocket of her white apron. She was smiling, but it slowly faded. “Are you all right, dear? Your eyes are a little—”

  “Red? That’s because I’ve been crying. But I will be fine.” Abby manufactured the best replica of a smile ever. “It’s not easy moving all the way across the country and knowing that I will never go back to Georgia—even for a visit. But I will get over it, in time.”

  In her mind, Abby hadn’t lied. One of the reasons she was crying was because she’d moved far from the land of her childhood. It just wasn’t the main reason.

  Mrs. Johnson put her arms around Abby in a grandmotherly hug. “Just so you know, Andrew and I already love you and the children, and that love will only grow in the days and weeks and years ahead.”

  Abby wanted to hug the woman back, and someday soon she would—just not today. If all her other problems weren’t enough, she would soon marry a ninety-year-old man.

  Sue Ann Reynolds was seated at the organ when she heard Pastor Johnson enter the church sanctuary. He held a piece of white paper in his hand—an envelope or a folded document of some kind. She pulled down the wooden hood, covering the keyboard, and got up from the bench.

  The pastor hadn’t noticed her yet, but even half hidden behind the organ, she could see that he looked refreshed and well since his vacation and more joyful than she had seen him in a long time. The visit to San Antonio must have been good for his spirit as well as his health.

  “Welcome home, Pastor. How was your vacation?”

  He looked up and smiled. “Miss Reynolds, what a nice surprise. The trip was wonderful, but it’s good to be home.”

  “How about the pain in your back?” she asked.

  “All gone, thank you. In fact, I felt so good that I walked all the way to the church instead of riding my horse like I normally do. The late afternoon air was so cool and refreshing, and I love to listen to the crunch of autumn leaves under my feet. The fall season inspires me with all these colors, and I love to hike down roads this time of the year. It recharges my creative side and makes sermon writing easier.” He took a deep breath, a contented smile on his lips. Then he seemed to remember his purpose. “I need to drop a letter off at the hotel,” he said. “But I stopped by the church first to pick up any mail that came in while I was away.”

  “You shouldn’t overdo, Pastor. We need you here at the church. Let me drop that letter off for you. It’s on my way home.”

  “You make me sound like an old man.”

  “It’s just that your congregation cares about you, sir.”

  “I know. But I enjoy walking now. It makes me feel better.”

  She nodded. “Walking is very good for your health, but if you don’t mind me saying so, it is a new hobby for you. You need to take it slow at first. Let me drop that letter off for you. I insist.” She reached out as if she expected him to hand her the letter.

  After a moment, he did.

  On the way to the hotel, Sue Ann unfolded the message and read it to pass the time. She’d expected the message to have something to do with church business. She never expected it to be a message from Abby to Luke Conquest.

  She thought again about the possibility that Luke and Abby spent a night together. She couldn’t stop thinking about it, and she should never have shared her assumptions with Mrs. Peabody. But it was too late to take back her words. Mrs. Peabody had probably told a lot of other people by now—perhaps destroying any chance Sue Ann might have had of marrying Luke.

  Instead of going to the hotel, she went straight to the garbage can in the alley behind the café. She stood there a moment, clutching the letter as if it were glued to her hand. Then she let it drop.

  Guilt scorched Sue Ann’s brain as well as her heart as she walked away. She knew she’d done wrong. Was it too late to make amends?

  She raced back to the alley. Some distance away, she smelled smoke. Mrs. Zack, the café owner, stood by the garbage can, watching as it burned. Sue Ann turned around and hurried away. She could only hope that Mrs. Zack hadn’t seen her.

  The sin of bearing what might have been a false witness against a neighbor was wicked enough. Now Sue Ann must add more sins to the list. Was it possible to stop a trail of evil deeds once they were started?

  If only she could sit and visit with Jim for a minute. He said he knew the Lord personally, and just talking to the kindhearted blacksmith always made her feel better. But Jim could turn away from her if he ever learned what she had done.

  Early on Sunday morning, Luke parked his wagon in front of the hotel and went inside—right up to the main desk. Mr. Pearson had his back to him, so Luke rang the bell.

  The desk clerk turned around, and Luke said, “Miss Willoughby and the children are expecting me. Will you let them know I am here?”

  “I’m sorry. They checked out of the hotel the day Pastor and Mrs. Johnson got back to town. Miss Willoughby and the children are living with them now.”

  Luke paused. “I see. Did she leave me a note?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  The muscles in Luke’s jaw tightened. “If you see Miss Willoughby again, please tell her that I got her message. She will know what I mean.”

  Then he turned and headed for the door.

  Mrs. Peabody was standing in front of the hotel when he came out, and she was the last person he wanted to see at that moment.

  “Oh, Mr. Conquest,” she said. “I was hoping to see you this morning.”

  He nodded politely. “Mrs. Peabody.”

  “Have you heard the news?” she asked.

  What news? Luke thought, but he didn’t say anything.

  “No, you couldn’t have heard because I just heard it myself. Anyway, Miss Willoughby and old Mr. Franklin are getting married this morning over at the church after the Sunday service. Robert Benton drove him into town a while ago, and Mr. Franklin insisted on being married today come hell or high water. I guess everybody is invited. Are you going?”

  “No. I won’t be going to church this morning. I need to get back to the ranch. So if you will excuse me.” He tried to go around her. “I’m kind of in a hurry.”

  The woman frowned. “Well, of course. Don’t let me stop you.”

  “I don’t plan to,” he said under his breath.

  Abby climbed out of bed on Sunday morning, thinking she would attend a service at the church and then serve pinto beans at a church gathering. How could she have known that Robert Benton would drive Ambrose in from the farm before the service began or that later she would stand beside a chair with wheels on it, waiting for Pastor Johnson to say the words that would make Ambrose Franklin her lawfully wedded husband?

  The church barbecue became a wedding reception. A big man named Jim served the pinto beans; she didn’t know his last name. Sue Ann Reynolds stood right beside him, serving the avocado salad.

  Ambrose and Abby were seated in c
hairs at the reception, side by side at a long table. Only his chair had wheels. She looked around for Luke but didn’t see him. He hadn’t attended church that morning either. If Luke had kept his promise to Ambrose and stood up with him during the wedding ceremony, maybe she wouldn’t feel so lost right now. Luke’s mere presence always lifted her spirits.

  How long must she keep her deepest secret—that she was in love with Luke Conquest? Her throat tightened. Forever, she supposed.

  Even before the scandal broke, she’d planned to stay as far from Luke as possible. But why did that have to mean marriage to Ambrose Franklin? Would the torture ever end? Maybe she should never have left Georgia.

  Abby knew the Bible said the Lord knows a person’s true thoughts and feelings, and she was ashamed of hers. Abby loved Luke Conquest and always would. But nobody else would ever know.

  She saw a flash of movement. Ambrose fell forward. Horror choked her, and her mouth opened as if it had a brain of its own. His face is in the pinto beans.

  Abby screamed.

  Luke was trying to read his Bible and forget that he didn’t attend the wedding. He’d told Mrs. Peabody at the hotel that he wasn’t going to the wedding, and he didn’t. Still, he felt guilty for not standing up for Ambrose during the ceremony as he had promised.

  He heard a knock at the door. Luke put down the Bible and opened the door. Robert stood in the doorway; his face was as white as a baby sheep after a good washing.

  “I drove Mr. Franklin to church this morning just like he told me to, sir, and…and…”

  “What happened, Robert? Is Mr. Franklin all right?”

  “No, sir.” Tears gathered in the young man’s eyes, and one or two slipped down his cheeks.

  “Come on in, Robert, and sit yourself down.”

  Robert nodded and did as he was told. “I knew Mr. Franklin was sick, sir—sicker than normal. I wanted to take him to see Dr. Carter. But he made me drive him to church instead, and he and Miss Willoughby got hitched.”

  “Married?”

  “Yes, and then Mr. Franklin fell into a bowl of pinto bean soup.”

  “He what?”

  “He’s dead, sir.”

  Luke stiffened. “Oh, no!”

  “The doctor said that Mr. Franklin’s heart wasn’t working right.”

  A deep sadness started in Luke’s heart, spreading throughout his body. “How is Mrs. Franklin doing?” he finally asked.

  “She’s all right, but it happened so fast. Like I said, I knew Mr. Franklin wasn’t feeling well, and I wanted to take him straight to see the doctor. But I never expected something like this. I sure don’t think Mrs. Franklin expected it. It was like she was taken aback and having a hard time believing that her new husband was dead.”

  “How about the children?” Luke asked. “How are they doing?”

  “Fine.” Robert cleared his throat. “They really didn’t know Mr. Franklin yet, and you know kids. Bad things just run right off their backs like stock dip off cattle after they walk through a dipping vat.”

  Despite the bad news, Robert’s comment made Luke smile. “Are you planning to drive back to town tonight?”

  “Yes, sir, but I came horseback.”

  “I’ll need to saddle my horse. We can ride along together.”

  Luke spent the night at the hotel in town. The next morning, he barged into the pastor’s office without knocking.

  “I came as soon as I could,” Luke said breathlessly. “When’s the funeral?”

  “This afternoon.” The pastor hesitated for a moment. “I reckon you knew Brother Franklin better than anyone. I was hoping you would say a few words at the service. Are you willing?”

  “I’d be glad to.”

  “I kind of figured you would.” The pastor indicated the wooden armchair in front of his desk. “Please, sit down. I have things I need to tell you.”

  Luke sat down, waiting to hear what else the pastor would say.

  “Maybe you don’t know about all the gossip that’s gone on around here since Miss Willoughby, I mean Mrs. Franklin, came to town. But now that Ambrose is gone, I’m obliged to tell you because you are being gossiped about, too.”

  “Me?”

  “You.”

  Luke knew what people must be thinking without being told. Some folks tended to get the wrong impression about situations even when their assumptions were wrong, and he had seen Abby a lot when she first arrived.

  “Does Mrs. Franklin know about the gossip?” Luke asked.

  The pastor nodded. “I think so. But at least she and the children own the house and the farm. At least, I hope they do.”

  “Hope?”

  “There could be a problem with Brother Franklin’s will, and it has also come to my attention that he was never rich like we all thought.”

  “What about the silver mine?”

  “Rubbish. He owned one share in a silver mine that never paid off.”

  Luke left the pastor’s office with some of his questions answered, but not all.

  He kept remembering the tender way Abby treated Mr. Franklin and everybody else she knew, and he loved her brothers and sisters—almost as much as he loved Abby. He intended to watch them from afar in order to keep them safe and help them in any way he could. He would do the things a husband would do in the hope that one day he would become the head of that family.

  At first he couldn’t think of a single thing he could do to help, but after he thought about it for a while, he made a list. He could chop wood for their woodstove and put it in the woodpile at the back of the house whether Abby wanted his help or not. He also planned to doctor her cattle when any of them looked sick and fix any broken fences he came across in his daily visits to the farm.

  He wanted to drive Abby and the children to town and to church on Sunday, but he knew it would only start another gossip storm. And Abby had already been through enough.

  Pastor and Mrs. Johnson urged Abby and the children to continue living with them. “There is no reason for y’all to live way out in the country on that farm when we have plenty of room right here in town.”

  But Abby insisted; she and the children would live on the farm. She’d always dreamed of a home of her own. Besides, the one visit to the church in Frio Corners was enough to convince her to move away. She was shunned by some in the congregation, especially Mrs. Peabody, and on her wedding day, too. Only Mrs. Eastland and a few others talked to her after the service. But for the barbecue, would anyone have attended the wedding reception?

  Three weeks after Ambrose died, the pastor called Luke into his office again.

  “Mrs. Franklin and the children are having a hard time since Ambrose died,” the pastor explained. “I’m thinking it’s going to get worse. Mr. Franklin never had time to change his will after he married Mrs. Franklin, and a niece from California inherited his home and land. Mrs. Franklin and the children weren’t left with so much as one penny. They’re living in the house now, but I got a telegram from California. The niece is ready to leave for Texas. Mrs. Franklin and the children could soon be out in the street with no money and no place to go.”

  “Does Abby know?”

  The pastor nodded. “I went out and told her as soon as I got the news.”

  “How did she take it?”

  “She smiled as you would have guessed, but I’ve learned to see through those smiles of hers. So, please, keep checking on her like you’ve been doing.” The pastor paused and shook his head again. “My wife and I have plenty of room in our big old house, and as you know, they stayed with us before. If need be, they can stay with us forever.” He paused. “Do you have any ideas as to what else can be done to help them?”

  Luke shrugged. He knew what he wanted to do—marry Abby. But he doubted she would have him.

  The pastor looked Luke in the eyes. “What Mrs. Franklin needs is a husband.” The pastor didn’t say anything more for what seemed to Luke like a long time. At last he said, “You have a lot to think about, Brothe
r Conquest. Let’s talk again in a few days.”

  Chapter 7

  Luke sat in a pew on the aisle at church on Sunday morning, thinking about what his pastor said the last time he talked to him and waiting for the service to begin.

  “What Mrs. Franklin needs is a husband.”

  Imagine. Was he urging Luke to marry Abby? Of course, that was exactly what he wanted to do, but that was impossible with Abby feeling the way she did about him.

  Sue Ann was at the organ, playing soulful hymns barely above a whisper. Jim, seated on a pew a couple seats ahead of Luke, couldn’t keep his eyes off her. Luke’s thoughts centered on Abby. He kept wishing she were so close he could reach out and touch her hand—comfort her in her time of need.

  Abby stood by the kitchen table, spooning boiled mush into Albert’s bowl. She couldn’t stop thinking about something the pastor said shortly before they moved to the farm.

  “As Mr. Franklin’s widow, you own the house and the land it sits on,” he’d said. “Let’s hope nothing changes that.”

  She hadn’t paid much attention to those words the first time she heard them. Now they came back to haunt her like a prophecy that came true. All she could do now was try to put all her worries out of her mind. So far, at least the children didn’t know they would soon be homeless.

  Abby sidled up beside Margaret and scooped another spoonful, dropping the white pottage onto Margaret’s plate. Tommy stared at his empty bowl, waiting for it to be filled.

  “Abby,” he said. “I thought today was Sunday.”

  “It is.”

  “Then why didn’t we go to church this morning, and why are we having mush again? We had it for breakfast.”

  How should she answer? Abby couldn’t share with the children most of what was going on, but she could share some things.

  Abby dropped the last of the mush in Tommy’s bowl. Then she went around and took her seat at the head of the table. She hadn’t had anything to eat all day, and that was all right with Abby. She wasn’t hungry—not much anyway.